First Chapter
In the distance the bells ringed keeping up with the cheers of thousands echoing across the city. Imperial City stood as a testament of tenacity and strenght, founded in a time of chaos three hundred years ago, it soon became the center of the young kingdom of Sicily. Despite its youth, Imperial City soon became a continental center for culture, commerce, religion and arts, surpased only by older, more populous cities such as Paris and London. Down a steady avenue, a figure cloaked in black clothes embroidered with silver walked. This person was a hero. One who had returned in glory to save his homeland which has been ravaged for many months now. The people cheered this hero. They cheered their prince, the future King of Sicily. Prince Lutterio walked on flowers' laden streets, thrown at his feet by crowds of smiling maidens, eager children, trumpeters and bands, and all the grateful people who was born and raised in the city. Flanked by a small group of four chosen soldiers dressed in similar garmeant, Prince Lutterio walked across the King's Road, which bisected through the center of the city. Soon enough the royal castle stood in front of them, its large gates opening into a short courtyard, almost a hallway, decorated with the statues of the men and women that defined the nation standing between neo-classical columns. Overhead, above the cupola and the white towers, stood an orange sky of pink and fluffly clouds heralding the day's end. At the end of the courtyard stood a short flight of steps leading to a set of doors that opened into the rotunda, which served as a vestibule for the royal residence. The vestibule was an imposing chamber, its arched ceiling so high overhead that its edges were lost in shadow. The room was round, engaged columns serving as structural and decorative elements, illuminated by golden sunlight streaming from the roof latern at the top of the room's cupola. The marble floor was decorated with latin quotes from the Bible, joined by a intricate nest of circles containing biblical stories and with the largest circle containing the image of Archangel Michael slaying a dragon. And was in this circle, in the middle of the room, that stood of the royal family. Lutterion's grandfather, the King, Magnus the first, stood in the center wearing a regal white and gold robe, a fur cape covering the elder's back, leaning on a golden cane with a large red ruby at the top surrounded a miniature crown. The elder's dark eyes were partially covered by grey hair and the bejewelled silver State crown. At his side stood his aunt, Angela, smilling kindly at him. She wore a simple, yet elegant violet dress with a small golden covering over her chest, her brown hair pulled backward in regal manner and small, sparkling silver tiara in her head. At her side stood her husband, Giorgio, wearing a similar garment that of the King's, minus the fur coat and the royal crown. His eyes contained nothing but boredom. Behind them stood Giorgio's mother, Benigna, wearing an old-fashionable, yet elegant, dress full of coverings and her hair pulled in the same hairstyle that of Angela's. Lutterio lowered his head, meeting none of the other's eyes. King Magnus stepped forward, envolving his grandson, his pride, in a warming hug. Angela smiled kindly at the image, winking at her nephew who has yet to raise his head. "Ah, my boy..." the elder said, tears spilling from his eyes "I am so proud of you. I..." Lutterio lifted his head, and Angela noticed the blank, cold expression on the prince's face. At at that moment, the smile vanished from the brunette's face as she liked her lips in fear. The young man begun to utter, as if an incantation. "I am also proud of you, gramps. Proud that despite your warmongering and slaughtering of innocents, yet you remain strong enough" he spoke as silence befell the room, all eyes on the prince. "Strong enough to spill blood". The prince raised his head and threw back his hood, revealing a complexion beyond pale, almost snowny white. Bags hung from the prince's eyes, as if to shown his exhaustion, but his stubble-covered face was twisted into a mocking grin. "Luto" Angele whispered as she stepped forward, her voice low afraid of speaking. Then she blinked, her eyes narrowed and she looked fiercely at her nephew. "What are you talking about? What is this nonsense?" The prince turned his attention to her, his mocking gaze unnerving. "Ah, dear auntie, it is no nonsense". Suddenly the small band of companions raised their guns and split off, each flanking a position around the smirking man. The guards, stationed around the room at the two doors leading to the castle's interior, gribbed their weapons as the men aimed their guns and shoot. The sounds of blazing shooting echoed across the room, two of the guards falling to the ground dead. "What trickery is this?" Benigna shrieked as the three surving men turn to the other two guards and shoot. The guards ran backwards, attempting to hide behind the walls, but one guard is hit in the back and falls to the ground but not before slaying one of the attackers. The other guard hides behind the wall, shooting at the man. And at the center of this chaos, stood the royal family, frozen by shock at the events happening around them. The king, still held in his grandson's arms, shook and then gasped almost silently. His grizzled hand, weak and old, lost its grip on the cane and it fell on the ground.... blood staining it. The king shook once more and then Lutterio let go of the elder whose body started to fall backwards. But, before anyone could speak, the prince withdrew a small, blood stained blade and slashed Magnu's throat. Blood spilled from the deceased man's throat, staining the royal family's face with small bits of them. Angela watched as the king's body fell to the ground, the State crown felling from his lifeless body and then rolling around the floor.